


Still Whole

by agentmoppet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, more a cathartic emotional journey, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 19:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10928949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoppet/pseuds/agentmoppet
Summary: George needs to grieve, but how can he grieve when his entire family acts as though he's missing a part of himself that he'll never regain? And he is, but he isn't. Merlin, why can't these things just make sense?





	Still Whole

George looked around at the piles of boxes that were stacked all the way to the ceiling. They were gathering dust, and several of them looked as though the contents inside had leaked. He thought they might have been the Dazzling Daredevil potions Fred had ordered last year. 

He still couldn’t bring himself to unpack them.

The bell over the door of the shop chimed, and George frowned. The sign in the window still said _Closed Until Further Notice_ , and as far as he knew the rest of the Weasleys were helping Harry move into his new flat. He’d slipped away when the noise became too much; maybe they’d come to look for him.

“George?” A familiar voice called from the front. “You back here, then? I had to pick the bloody lock the Muggle way!”

“Seamus?” George stuck his head over the balcony and looked down. “What’re you doing here?”

Seamus’s face broke into a smile. “There you are. Your mam said you’d be here. What’s the deal with the door? You’ve got more spells on it than the bloody Ministry. It stung me when I tried to Alohamora it.”

George took the stairs slowly, coming to stand in front of Seamus and leaning back against the railing. He was doing his best to pass as normal, but the slight furrow of Seamus’ brow told him it wasn’t working.

“Just sorting stock,” he said, pasting a smile onto his face.

A sound like several large boxes falling off their precarious perch and crashing down onto the floor came from above them. Seamus’ eyes widened.

“I can see that,” he murmured, looking up at the door to the back room. “Listen, I was wondering if you needed any help getting the shop ready to open.”

“Help?” George asked, feeling strangely as if he was talking through a fog.

Seamus stared at him for a few seconds, an unreadable expression on his face. Suddenly it disappeared, and he clapped George on the shoulder before ducking past him and running up the stairs. “I’ll do the moving; you can do the inventory. Sound alright?”

The entire shop shook from the pounding of Seamus’ feet on the stairs, and George steadied himself against the railing as the sudden noise and energy threatened to pull his careful control out from beneath him.

“Alright,” he called up the stairs, the weak sound of his voice already drowned out by Seamus’ exclamations of delight.

He grabbed a clipboard and quill off the bench and followed Seamus up the stairs.

“You didn’t tell me you’d finished the new Twizzler design! Did you get them to fly?”

Brown paper packaging was already strewn all over the floor between Seamus and the door, and George winced at the sight of the mess. He pushed the emotion down and focused on the present, trying to recall the moment when they had finally settled on a recipe for the Twisting Twizzlers.

He gave a tiny grin. “We got them to do more than that,” he said, his voice coming stronger at the memory of huddling over a steaming cauldron with Fred. “Take a bite.”

Seamus shoved half the Twizzler into his mouth and began to chew. Immediately, he gave a muffled yelp around the mouthful, and George laughed as Seamus’ skin turned bright red and he flew straight up into the air, twisting around and around like a rotisserie chicken.

“Blimey!” he squawked, swallowing the rest and trying to regain his balance in midair.

George flicked his wand, and Seamus stopped spinning. His grin began to fade as Seamus fell to the floor, his head flung back in laughter.

“Came out pretty well, don’t you think?” he looked down at the ground, flicking his wand so that the brown paper vanished.

Seamus stood up, but George turned to his clipboard, finding himself suddenly unable to look at him.

“George,” Seamus said hesitantly.

“Why are you here?”

George stared at the clipboard. He hadn’t meant to say it; when conversations became serious, it was always Fred who took over. George had never managed that fine line between tact and honesty.

Seamus walked over and sat down on one of the boxes in front of him.

“I’m here to help you, of course.” His tone was serious for once. “And I wouldn’t mind something to distract me for the moment.” He ran a hand through his short curls and gave a rueful smirk. “I broke up with Dean.”

George’s eyebrows shot up.

“Just wasn’t working,” Seamus continued with a shrug, answering the unspoken question. “It’s all over now — the war, You Know Who — and-” he pulled a face, “and I’m just not sure we came out the other end the same as how we went in; do you know what I mean?”

The air seemed to swell around him, choking him as he stared into Seamus’ blue eyes —both familiar and somehow new — and fought to stay calm.

“Yeah,” he said finally, when he could trust his voice again. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

 

~~~

 

“Ron, bring those boxes down here, now!” Molly’s strident voice echoed through the shop without the need of any magical assistance. “Percy’s cleared a spot.”

“Coming!” Ron yelled over the stairs, balancing several small boxes in his arms while simultaneously levitating five others in front of him.

He dodged Harry coming up the stairs, ducked under Bill dusting the bookshelves, and set the boxes down for Molly to unpack.

George watched it all from the doorway behind the counter, hidden behind a velvet curtain.

“D’you need me to make an excuse for you, then?”

George jumped and whirled around to find Seamus setting down his key and shopping bags on the desk.

“I can tell them there was an issue at the factory,” he continued, nodding towards the sounds of organised Weasley chaos. “I’ll say you had to duck out.”

“Thanks,” George said quietly, twitching the curtain to make sure they were still hidden. “But I only need a minute.”

“Sure thing,” Seamus said with a grin, reaching into his bag, grabbing something, and throwing it to George.

He caught it on reflex and looked down to see a shiny, red apple. When he looked up again, Seamus winked at him, catching him by surprise and making him flush for no reason that he could think of.

“You’ve been looking peaky,” Seamus explained and then ducked through the curtain.

“Seamus! Have you seen George?” Harry’s voice came from outside, and George shrunk further into the room.

“He’s upstairs, isn’t he?”

George could tell just from the sound of Seamus’ voice that he was smiling, and for some reason he felt himself smile in response.

The wood of the desk was refreshingly cool as he hoisted himself up to sit on it. If he leaned his head back against the wall, the sounds of outside became muffled and distant, and for the first time he felt himself relax. He bit into the apple, relishing the crisp sweetness and wondering how long it would be before his mother bundled everyone into their coats and sent them home. 

“Here you are!” The curtain swept aside, and he felt a sick feeling drop into the pit of his stomach.

“Hi, mum.” He forced a smile. “Just taking a break.”

Molly shifted her hands onto her hips and gave him a stern look. “We talked about keeping busy, didn’t we?”

George clenched his jaw.

She walked over and bustled him off the desk. “It’s the only way to keep going. I promise you it will help.”

“No, mum, it helps _you_ ,” George gritted out.

He regretted the words immediately, and Molly’s shocked, wide-eyed expression made him wish he could take them back. Then her face softened, and it was almost worse.

“Honey, you’re not yourself at the moment,” Molly reached out to him, drawing him off the desk and into a hug. “But you will be. It will be okay. Come out with us — you need the company.”

He stood limply in her arms, hearing the unspoken words: _you don’t know how to be alone._

It was true; he had never been alone. But that wasn’t the problem.

 

~~~

 

“What about a blueberry sweet that turns you into a blueberry?” Hermione suggested, her eyebrows shooting up as she looked around at everyone.

Ron and Harry made encouraging noises, but George could only bring himself to grunt.

“It’s in a muggle story book,” Hermione continued, trailing off a little as she tried and failed to catch George’s eye. “It’s really… fun.” 

George stared at the table, running his fingers along the condensation on his beer glass. He could sense the others exchanging looks, but he couldn’t bring himself to make a joke or lighten the mood. Knowing how they would try and fail to banter with him like Fred made it pointless to even try.

“Right,” Seamus said, pushing through the crowded bar and setting fresh drinks on the table with a loud thud. “Hermione, you look like someone spilled water on your favourite book; Harry, Ron, you look a pair of guilty louts; and, George — no offence — you look like you died and came back to life against your will. But you always look like that, so I’m not particularly worried.” He pulled a muggle lighter out of his pocket and grinned. “Check this out — the bartender said I could do it here. It’ll cheer you all up, I promise.”

He clicked the lighter and ran the flame across the four glasses; they shot up with bright, blue fire. Harry and Ron yelped while Hermione shot back and began admonishing Seamus for lack of safety.

Before he could help himself, George laughed, taken by the excitement in Seamus’ eyes and forgetting, for a brief moment, the rest of the world that normally clung to him like thick sludge. 

He looked up and saw Seamus watching him, blue eyes twinkling in the flickering light.

“Alright,” he said, smiling gently and keeping his eyes on Seamus. “I had this idea a while ago, but Fred wasn’t really into it.”

He ignored the way the other three stiffened and held themselves still, as though afraid to frighten a wild animal, and focused only on the grin spreading across Seamus’ face.

“Bah,” Seamus waved a hand dismissively. “Fred’s style was sort of predictable. I’ve got a hunch you’re thinking something fascinating." 

“Maybe a little,” George agreed.

 

~~~

 

“Mr. Weasley,” a small voice piped up somewhere around his knee. “Where is the other Mr. Weasley?”

The child’s mother spun around in horror and shuffled the little girl away before George could even think how to respond. “I’m so sorry!” she murmured to him.

George steadied himself against the counter and watched as the mum whispered furiously — and not very quietly — to her daughter. The shop was full, the sound of laughter and chatter echoing round and round in his mind, and yet he could still hear their words clearly. 

“You mustn’t ask Mr. Weasley about his twin, honey. He died during the war.”

“How can a twin die?” the little girl’s eyes had grown wide. “They’re always together!”

George winced and turned away, tuning out the rest of the conversation. He had tried to do the usual routine this morning, a Grand Re-Opening — _Step right up, folks! Step right up and see the wonders of the new, improved, and historically accurate Reusable Hangman, now complete with Moldy Voldy’s very own snake-face —_ but it simply hadn’t felt the same. Fred was the loud one; Fred led the show, and George didn’t know how to star in a routine that didn’t allow him to finish someone else’s sentences.

He felt movement beside him and looked up to see Seamus scrambling to his feet on top of the counter. He blinked and opened his mouth to protest, but Seamus had already cast a Sonorus and begun to speak.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” he called out cheerfully to the crowd. “May I just say that dress looks fabulous,” he added to a small child staring open-mouthed at him from the staircase.

The child giggled and blushed, and he continued with a grin.

“Welcome to the Slightly-More-Subtle-Than-Grand re-opening of _Weasleys Wizard Wheezes_! You’ll find brand new stock on the display tables in the centre here, including a familiar face on our doomed Hangman.” He winked. “If you have any questions or gushing compliments about the products, George and I will be walking the floor.”

It wasn’t how Fred would have done it, but it was charming and magnetic, and George couldn’t look away.

Seamus jumped down off the counter and balanced himself on George’s shoulder. “Was that alright?” he asked quietly. “I know Fred always did things a bit differently, but I thought this way you might get more of an inquisitive crowd than one always waiting for you to perform.”

His hopeful smile was infectious, and George couldn’t help but return it.

“Mr. Weasley!” An outraged voice interrupted them.

George turned around to see a middle-aged man waving one of the Reusable Hangmen around in the air.

“Speaking,” he said drily.

“Mr. Weasley, do you really think this is an appropriate toy to be giving out to children?” He shoved the _Moldy Voldy_ lookalike in his face.

George raised his eyebrows in faux politeness, feeling Seamus stiffen beside him. He could picture how Fred would have responded.

_“A moldy effigy for a moldy gentleman, don’t you think?”_

He could almost hear Fred’s dismissive laugh and the man’s indignant exit from the shop. It was a technique that worked, this was true, but the words would taste sour in George’s mouth.

“On the contrary,” he said, fixing the man with a level stare. “Voldemort sought fear and respect; he might be dead, but I’ll never give him that satisfaction.”

“But it trivialises the suffering of everyone who lost family or loved ones to He Who Must Not Be Named!” the man protested. “Their loss! Their grief!”

“Respect for the dead and irreverence for a bigoted monster are two entirely separate things,” Seamus butted in. He slung an arm over the man’s shoulder and steered him to the door, gesturing expansively with his free hand. “Allow me to discuss the concept of synthesis with you: two entirely separate concepts, joined together to make something new.”

His voice faded, and George turned away.

The afternoon passed smoothly, and they closed up shop on a successful day of profit. George locked the money in the safe and stood staring distantly at the key.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Seamus leaned in the doorway, watching him.

“I think he was right,” George said, running the smooth metal over in his palm. “It does trivialise it all.”

“You’re a joke shop,” Seamus said flatly. “That’s what you do.”

“Even for that?”

Seamus shrugged. “If you want to.”

“Fred would have wanted to.”

The clock ticked behind them, filling the silence that rang after those words. Seamus sighed and sat down on the desk beside him.

“It’s Fred’s style, yeah. But is it yours?”

“I don’t know.” George shook his head and then looked up at Seamus. “What was all that stuff about synthesis?”

“Putting two concepts together without compromising them,” Seamus said. “You can respect people’s grief and still refuse to give in to the fear and respect that old snake-face demanded.”

“That’s what Fred was like,” George said quietly. “It was how he protested it all, how he grieved.” He sighed. “It was how he kept going.”

Seamus nodded. “It suited him, and if Fred had been here when that man came in, he wouldn’t have thought twice about giving a grand spiel touting the cathartic benefits of hanging Voldemort every morning over breakfast.” His voice softened. “But he’s not here, and everyone grieves differently. What do you want to do?” 

George looked up at him, and a long silence passed between them before he finally spoke. “Something different.”

 

~~~

 

The Floo flared green, and George stormed through into the tiny apartment above the shop. A few seconds later, green flames flickered again and Seamus followed him.

“Don’t!” George said abruptly, holding up one finger without turning around.

Seamus said nothing, though George could hear him moving around behind him and settling on the couch. He took a deep breath and turned around, settling himself against the window.

After a while, he spoke. “I know they’re trying.”

Seamus shrugged. “Doesn’t mean they’re not doing a bloody awful job of it.”

George snorted. “You can say that again.”

“You don’t have to defend them, you know,” Seamus said, picking up a mechanical toy off the coffee table and spinning it around in his fingers. “I know they’re trying. You know they mean well. Doesn’t mean they’re not hurting you every time they bring it up.”

George dropped his head into his hands, threading his fingers through his hair and tugging lightly. “I just-” he made a sound of frustration and looked back up at Seamus. “They keep trying to replace him, like I’m not whole without him and I need to be fixed with — I don’t know — a wooden leg or something.”

“Did you just call Ron a wooden leg?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m going to tell him.”

George clunked his head back against the window, huffing a laugh despite his anger. “I just want them to help me move on instead of acting as though I’m something that’s impossible to fix.”

“You’re not impossible to fix.”

George looked up into Seamus’ piercing gaze and swallowed. “I know. I’ll feel normal again one day.”

“No,” Seamus shook his head. “I mean you’re not impossible to fix because you’re not broken. You lost Fred — someone who means more to you than anyone else in the world — and you need to mourn that, on your own, in your own way. But you’re still you — you’re still whole.”

“Sometimes it feels like I lost a part of me.” George’s voice cracked.

“Of course it does,” Seamus said, setting the toy back down on the coffee table and leaning forward. “You know what always makes me feel better?”

George raised an eyebrow. “Blowing stuff up?” he asked drily. 

Seamus grinned.

 

~~~

 

George stood behind the curtain, listening to the customers file in and chatter excitedly about the new layout. He frowned as a familiar voice reached his ears.

“What’s he done?!” Ron exclaimed.

George tweaked the curtain so he could see his brother looking up at the towering display in shock.

“It’s an entirely new line!” Ron walked around the table, looking at all the shelves and trinkets. “I knew he was busy these last few weeks, but how did he have the time to make an entirely new line of products?”

Harry picked up a bright purple box and smiled slowly as he read the back. “I guess he was inspired,” he said, looking over at the counter.

George dropped the curtain and turned to Seamus, who was eyeing him with a knowing grin.

“Ready for the grand reveal?” Seamus asked, and he nodded.

Seamus whipped back the curtain and strode through. He spoke quietly to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, waited until they nodded, and then leaped onto the counter in a smooth move that he’d done so often it was now familiar.

“Good morning, gorgeous customers!”

Fred would have said ‘Ladies and Gentleman’.

George leaned back against the doorway and watched Seamus. For the first time, he felt he could think about how differently Fred might have done things and not feel an ache in his chest at the knowledge that he was gone. He felt the loss and pain, and he felt the joy of watching someone else do it entirely differently. Two very separate ideas and a grand new whole.

“I don’t know about you,” Seamus continued. “But it’s been a bit of a rough year, and sometimes I just want to-” he gestured vaguely, like he was searching for the right word, before suddenly throwing a tiny, egg-shaped object up in the air.

It exploded with a soft bang, and the crowd shrieked and ducked. George noticed that only Harry, Ron and Hermione looked unsurprised, and he huffed a laugh as he realised that Seamus must have warned them beforehand. Bright red smoke drifted above their heads, and tiny, golden explosions burst at random intervals amongst it.

“Don’t you think?” he added with a grin. “We have different sized explosions for every level of frustration — all perfectly safe — but if noise isn’t your thing, you might want to try our Silencing Sweets.” He jumped off the counter and held up the tiny purple box Harry had been looking at. “We’ve had a lot of noise these past few years,” he said solemnly. “A lot of explosions. Sometimes we just need to make it all,” he snapped his fingers, “go away.” He set down the box and floated several more in the air. “We have scented cubes — an array of soothing scents complete with Calming and Warming Charms — and music boxes charmed to hold comforting messages and sounds of home. Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home, but sometimes we want a piece of home with us as well.”

He cast Quietus and looked around at the silent crowd. “Any questions — you know where to find us.”

The crowd leaped into action, fighting over boxes and nearly sending the entire display toppling over. Harry, Ron, and Hermione pushed through the crowd to find them.

“I didn’t know you were interested in this!” Hermione said, excited. “I have loads of ideas if you’re looking for more.”

“It feels like you, George,” Ron said, sounding a little awed. “It’s-” he looked around at the display shelves, something wistful on his face. “It’s really cool.”

“Well, now I’ve got my little brother’s approval,” George said with a grin, “my life is complete. I can pack up shop and do something else.”

“Shut up,” Ron punched him lightly on the shoulder and then moved away to grab several boxes of Eggcellent Explosions.

Seamus directed a girl to the small display of Moldy Voldy Reusable Hangmen in the corner, and then handed several boxes of Silencing Sweets to a small boy who couldn’t push through the crowd.

“I think it’s a success,” he said to George.

George nodded, watching the crowd grab box after box off the display. “Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked Seamus, jerking his head toward the back room.

Seamus followed him through and twitched the curtain closed. “Everything alright?”

George shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling his cheeks flush. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

A delightful pink tinge appeared on Seamus’ neck, making George feel a little bolder.

“If it wasn’t for you, I think I’d still be fighting with mum about the best way to prop myself back up and keep going, never really realising what I actually needed.”

Seamus swallowed. “You don’t need a prop,” he said, scrubbing the back of his head.

“I know.” George grinned.

Seamus’ eyes dropped to George’s mouth, and George felt his stomach flip. The room was suddenly too small.

“So, thank you,” he said again, his voice weak.

“You’re welcome,” Seamus’ eyes flicked back up to his, but George couldn’t look away from his soft, red lips.

George took a step forward. “Can I?” he asked, poised, waiting for Seamus to respond.

Seamus grinned, took a step forward and kissed him. The sound of the crowd outside faded away until it was only distant laughter. George’s heart leapt, thumping in his chest, and he brought his arms up around Seamus’ neck and pulled him close. He tasted like apple, and the kiss was more gentle than he would have imagined from someone so bold and full of fire.

“You don’t make a habit of saying ‘thank you’ like this, do you?” Seamus murmured against his lips. “If you do, just let me know now before I grossly misread this situation.”

George laughed and leaned back to smile at him. “If I ask you out on a date, will that help you read the situation correctly?”

“I’ll need at least two.”

For a second, the sound of their laughter swelled above the noise of the shop, before they fell quiet again, distracted, safe, and happy.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little disjointed, but I hope you liked it! This is the first of the tumblr rare pair requests that I hope to get finished quite soon. I really enjoyed writing it, even if it's not exactly what I wanted. Comments are love! Find me on [ tumblr ](agentmoppet.tumblr.com)


End file.
